


O Perfume Laden With Nonchalance

by deathwailart



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Comfort, F/M, Hair Washing, Post-Canon, Romance, Sailing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 13:05:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2069337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris and Isabela sailing from Kirkwall to Antiva where Fenris treats her like the queen of the seas she truly is.</p>
<p>Title from La Chevelure (Head of Hair) by Baudelaire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O Perfume Laden With Nonchalance

From Kirkwall they sail aimlessly.  
  
It's an indulgence for Isabela who may not have the crew she is accustomed to but Fenris has been aboard ships before and learns quickly, Merrill keeps to the hold as she gets used to it without being sick and Luce tends to get in the way as she hurries to make herself useful. They head along the coast to Ostwick where Luce gets quiet and Fenris wraps his hands around Isabela's on the wheel, lips grazing her ear when he whispers _I'm glad you returned_.  
  
Luce is promoted to captain for a brief interlude and catcalls in Rivaini when they return.  
  
They stop at Amaranthine. Fenris and Luce embrace, Isabela runs through all the old lessons she ever taught Merrill. When Luce and Isabela embrace, she gives her a kiss, promising that they'll somehow manage to keep in touch as they head off to Ferelden in search of new lives. Isabela's ship gains a crew, some old hands who knew her before and they stare in awe of Fenris, her first mate and navigator because he has a knack for it that makes her giddy. She tried explaining it to Luce once but it's a sailing thing, a pirate thing and Luce has always had her feet planted on the ground and not a rolling deck. Fenris fits in well with the crew – they like his humour, the moment when they think they've been insulted before they realise what he meant, the stupid snorting laugh he always tries to disguise with a cough – and he soon adds surgeon to his list of duties because he survived all those years alone and then all the years with Luce. He can pin a man down to set a bone or force a shoulder back into place and well, there's no one better at removing sharp things.  
  
They share a cabin though he has a room of his own because she does understand wanting space but it's rare that he spurns her bed, usually only when they're on different shifts so one doesn't disturb the other. Fenris sleeps lightly even now, so used to having to be alert at a moment's notice, still sometimes having nightmares where he can't be around anyone, just to be safe. He sleeps soundly in her arms when she combs her fingers through his hair and runs her fingers over the lines of lyrium and if he's aware of it then he goes limp, sprawls like a cat. Other times she lies cradled against him, long arms and legs to keep her safe, never caging her, enough of a touch to say 'I'm here'.  
  
They stop at Llomerynn where the sharpest blade is welcomed back. They get drunk and dance on a table after she shows him the knife games they all play and she gives the whole crew the night off as she and Fenris have the ship to themselves. When they get there because sex on the beach is heavenly if done just right and his hands and that _voice_ are far too distracting.  
  
It's the Rialto Bay next, Antiva and the smell makes him gag at first and she laughs and laughs when she's done negotiating the price of the repairs they need, the docking fees and what have you, making a list of the supplies they'll need to sort out too. She always likes to do her real outfitting in Antiva where they know how to treat their women. Rivain looms and it's been so long since she was last home but it stirs something in her belly, something not good so she puts it out of mind and picks the most experienced hands to look after the ship as she and Fenris take some time away. Antiva is bustling and alive, it sinks into her skin and it's not so odd to see a tattooed (to their eyes at least) elf in strange armour hand in hand with a pirate dressed as she is. The jewellery here is always to die for, not cheap and tacky like Lowtown where it left a green stain on the skin or overpriced frippery from Hightown. Here it's crafted with love and she oohs and aahs until Fenris calls her magpie.  
  
She catches him buying something anyway but doesn't tease, instead chatting away to the merchants who call out to her. Beautiful lady, oh captain my captain, queen of the seas and all the other ridiculous shouts of men and women from the Rialto. Members of the Crows rush by her and she misses Zevran fiercely and wishes equally that Luce had remained; Luce has never seen the places her father worked before her birth and she would have fitted in here. She leads Fenris through streets she knows like the back of her hand, tells him stories and picks the same tavern and inn to stay in. Even Fenris can't say no to the fish stew they serve here, not when they know how to cook it, tossed with seared vegetables and spices hot enough to fuse your tongue to the roof of your mouth.  
  
Fenris manages well and shrugs when she voices her surprise. "I lived in Seheron, the food there is...formidable, to say the least."  
  
But Seheron isn't on their list of places to go for the same reasons as Rivain. They've got all the time in the world, plenty of coin to hand and right now a luxurious room – there is nothing else in this part of Rivain when people know her better than they ever did in Kirkwall or Ferelden, where they know her as a queen, skilled with her blades with a tongue even sharper when it needs to be – with a lavish bath. It's the reason she loves this place. The maids heat the water, leaving them brandy, the really good stuff, courtesy of a friend or so they say and Fenris asks if it's Zevran and she honestly doesn't know because she has lots of friends here and can't remember half their names.  
  
She sinks into the bath after Fenris plucks the laces of her corset and smock, her hair free of her bandana and all her jewellery removed and moans, curling her toes and stretching her arms high above her head. Fenris chuckles and she can't even bring herself to swat at him lazily.  
  
"This is bliss, are you coming in? There's room enough for two and the bath oils Fenris, they _do_ things to you."  
  
"There is something I'd like to do," he starts and she waits, blinking at him through the steam and he's doing that thing he does when he gets embarrassed, shifting his weight from foot to foot, raising a hand as if he might wave the words away. "It's foolish, forget I said anything."  
  
"No, tell me." She reaches out and catches him as he tries to walk past. "Please."  
  
"I'll show you," he says in a voice that makes her shiver and then there's the sound of his armour hitting the floor and she feels her lips curl into a smirk. "Move forward a little," he instructs and she's confused because she just _asked_ if he was going to join her and those are definitely his bare legs and his strangely delicate feet – they look like a dancer's feet to her – slip into the bath and he has a leg on either side of her shoulder. But he does move any further until he gathers her hair that's starting to curl more from the damp heat of the steam, first combing through it with his fingers, then the golden comb she's carried with her for years, a stupidly ornate and wonderful thing that she adores, then a boar bristle brush. She loves having someone play with her hair and he knows it and she's fallen asleep when he's done it before, both of them smiling shyly before they laugh and get back to the joking. "Lean forward," he instructs and she rouses herself from the momentary daze, "close your eyes."  
  
"You don't need to do this," she says quietly, even though she makes absolutely no moves to stop him, in fact, she chooses to settle more comfortably against him, his bare knees at just the right angle for her to lean on.  
  
"Perhaps I want to," he replies and well she's not going to argue with him. Besides, she thinks, as he bends past her to fill a pitcher with water, fingers grazing her breast as he does so, that he's enjoying it just a little bit more than she is.  
  
It's been far too long since she's been properly spoiled anyway.  
  
She knows what people think of her. That she's a tramp and a slattern, a wicked temptress, a thief and a pirate, a piece of meat, the fantasy for a night – she's heard it all before and she means it when she says that while they don't know her but she knows herself, it doesn't mean that it doesn't settle on her skin in a way she can't always scrub off. She was a captain and a queen. She was happy, loved and respected before Kirkwall and she feels like herself once more and all the better for having Fenris with her. Especially when he's with her as she lies lazy and indolent in the bath with the smell of pomegranate and something that escapes her thick in the air. She takes what she wants, when she wants but still, she's a woman. A person. She has wants and needs and this is something she's only ever had with Zevran and even then it was fleeting, her caught up with her newfound freedom from her unhappy marriage. She's grown woman now and she feels like something more than a queen as Fenris' strong hands gently massage her scalp until she purrs with sure, practiced motions.  
  
Time is meaningless right now, anything more than her and him and this bath is meaningless as though the world has narrowed down to just them as she closes her eyes and inhales deeply, holding her breath to listen to the steady thump of her heart in her ears and throat. She opens her eyes, fans the steam from her face and the water around her sloshes as he continues to wash her hair for her.  
  
"Still awake?"  
  
"Just about."  
  
"No danger of drowning?"  
  
"What sort of pirate captain would I be if I drowned in a _bath_?" She flicks water back at him and he just laughs.  
  
She trails her hands down his legs, knowing where the lines and dots of the lyrium brands are by touch alone, raised and unnaturally smooth even on an elf's skin when Fenris has even less hair on his body than her. It's reassuring. His solid, steady presence, warmth and love – because it's love, she knows it and he knows it and that's enough for just now – and she basks in it. Stops thinking and follows his commands. Close your eyes. Close your mouth. Tilt your head. Lean back. He rinses her hair, combs through it carefully without the comb snagging and then applies the oil she carries with her – well, one of them anyway, there's a bottle that's just for massages that he adores when she works it into his skin and it's such a gesture of trust after the life he lived and the jokes they made years ago in Kirkwall – so that her hair will glow in the sun, soft and smooth, obeying her no matter the weather. She should always looks like a queen and a queen never has a hair out of place.  
  
Regrettably the water cools and he rinses the oil from her hair, offering her a towel before she can even start to shiver. There's a window seat looking out over the docks and to the rest of the bay. She opens a window to let the steam out as Fenris deals with getting a change of water as she dries off slowly, rubbing lotion into her skin as she watches him although Fenris is always efficient when he bathes in a way that suggests he's never known otherwise, scrubbing quickly until he's done and joining her, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. There are questions she wants to ask but sometimes he can read her too well as he leans in, an arm around her shoulders, his breath hot against her ear.  
  
"You should be treated like a queen."  
  
Isabela is never going to argue with that.


End file.
